


Starry-Eyed Savior

by misch3fbunni3



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Chris saves the day, Motion Sickness, Poor Wesker, Severe Migraine, Taking care of the boss, Vomiting, heart of gold - Freeform, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28401513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misch3fbunni3/pseuds/misch3fbunni3
Summary: Wesker gets a really bad migraine. Luckily, Chris is always willing to go out of his way for his Captain but ends up taking on a bigger task than he ever expected.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	Starry-Eyed Savior

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bruna-Midnight Disturbance](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bruna-Midnight+Disturbance).



> I finally figured out a way to add in that motion sickness request. Chris doesn’t have his man-crush yet but is still star-struck by his captain and wants to help any way he can.
> 
> Shitty alternate titles: “It’s Not a Tumor!” and “The Stars in My Eyes Are Not What They Seem”

Wesker knew it was coming but tried to ignore it anyway. The team had a big mission coming up, and he had been playing a few strings to try and get an in for better surveillance before they made their bust. On top of that, William had been nagging him non-stop to come and look at his work. Wesker knew it was coming, and he should have known better and taken time off before it became worse, but he pushed himself too far.

Now he was sitting in his office with the lights off, his head bowed in between his knees, trying to keep the rising nausea at bay. His hands clenching tightly into his slicked-back hair in hopes for some relief but knowing none of it would help. He needed to get home. Needed to take the medicine that would alleviate the manifesting symptoms and reduce the pain. Except Wesker had waited too long. Overworking himself and ignoring all the warning signs.

Wesker swallowed the thick saliva pooling in his mouth as his stomach churned. It was nearing the end of the shift, and he really needed to get home as soon as possible. Wesker only had a small window before things really went swiftly downhill. Wesker stood slowly, one hand against his desk to steady his trembling frame. He shuffled through his drawers, blindly searching for his keys. Despite knowing that driving was likely a terrible idea, he needed to attempt anyway.

Not caring to grab his pack, he pressed his shades in place and almost stumbled to the blinds to see who was still working. He really was not up for explaining anything at the moment, much less speaking to anyone. Shifting one of the blinds up, he squinted his left eye shut against the throbbing pain the small bit of light caused. The office was deserted, and for once, he was thankful his team had taken off early. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he made his way to his office door, gripping the doorknob with a clammy hand. It took him a moment to find the strength to turn it.

The fluorescent lights seemed to stab at his eyes, and he pressed a hand over his left eye to further protect it from the searing force. He could hear the hum of the lights, and it was like a hive of bees had suddenly taken residence in his skull. As fast as he could, he vacated the STARS office and stumbled his way down the corridor and the stairs and out to his vehicle. Despite his slightly jerky movements, no one had stopped him from his goal.

The sun was blinding, and Wesker hissed as he clasped a hand over his eyes as his vision blurred. The movement caused him to be slightly off-balance, and he leaned back into the shade and pressed against the wall, shivering as sweat trickling down his back. Taking another deep breath, he pressed forward and made it as quickly to his vehicle as his feet would allow.

Wesker’s hands felt slightly numb, and he had difficulty trying to open the door as he fumbled with his keys. Pressing his forehead against the window frame, he grunting when he ended up dropping them to the ground. Whispering a quiet ‘fuck’ in frustration, Wesker stood leaning against the car door, staring down with one eye to the shiny metal. Sliding down against the door, he poked at the keys and used shaky fingers to find the correct one and grasped it tightly.

Rising, he closed his eyes as he felt for the lock and jammed the key in to finally unlock the door. Stumbling, he opened the door and fell heavily into the driver’s seat, only to suddenly jerk his head back out the still open door to vomit as the nausea intensified with the sudden drop. Luckily the mess made in onto the pavement, splattering slightly against his boots. The smell of rank coffee, partially digested lunch, and stomach acid made his retch harder, almost causing his sunglasses to slip off his nose. Wesker quickly grasped them in a fist to keep them from falling into the disgusting mess, as his eyes watered with the loss of protection and lack of air.

Finally, at a point he could breathe, Wesker spat any remaining sick onto the ground and then leaned back into his car to place his forehead against the steering wheel. Cracking his eyes open, the light burned his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, replacing his shades in the hope they would allow him to get home. He reopened them, but when bright lights flashed across his vision that should not have been there, he knew he would not be able to drive. Clenching his eyes tightly, he slammed his hands against the steering wheel, growling, spittle flying as his frustration escalated rapidly, as did the throbbing pain in his head.

“Captain Wesker, Sir?”

The sudden voicing of his name caused him to experience vertigo as he lurched back harshly against his seat with a low sound of surprise. His right eye squinted as he glared at the young brunette who dared startle him. Deep concern was etched across Chris’s face as he eyed Wesker from the other side of the open car door, “Is everything alright?” Wesker pressed his hand against his eyes, tipping his head back as he grimaced, the sound of Chris’s voice like nails on a chalkboard to no fault of his own.

Breathing carefully, Wesker knew this looked bad, and he was not one to usually allow his subordinates to see him in such a vulnerable position. Still, he really needed to get home and take the proper dosage before the migraine became any worse. He did not want to push himself to the point of a seizure, which had happened before when he ignored his limits—an incredibly unpleasant experience.

Not wanting to drag this out longer, Chris was actually a saving grace right now. “I…” Wesker had to swallow down the sudden intensity of saliva pooling in his mouth. Talking and explaining what he needed was now a burden, “I have a terrible migraine. I… I need to get home. But…” Swallowing more as he swung himself to angle out of the car in case he became sick again, “I need medicine.”

The smell from his previous sick wasn’t making it any easier, roiling his stomach as he belched, covering his mouth and nose to escape the noxious fumes. Muffled by his hand, “I can’t… I can’t see well enough to drive, but I need to get home.” Wesker knew this was one of his last options. He could call a cab, but that would require a lot more effort and lost time. Chris piped up in his usual chipper attitude, “Well, I mean, I could take you home, Sir. You really don’t look too good.”

Wesker didn’t say anything but nodded his head slightly, which ended up being a bad idea, and he clenched his teeth, trying to stifle a small sound of misery, “Could… could you? Are you sure?” Chris was the kind of guy who would drop everything to help out just about anyone. Wesker knew he could depend on Chris to have everyone’s back and incredibly thankful the brunette had stopped long enough to check on him. Wesker could hear the concern in Chris’s voice, “Of course, anything for you, Sir.”

Wesker grit his teeth as he stood from the seat, left eye shut as he held a hand over the tops of his shades to keep the blinding light out. Leaning against the car, he closed the door and realized he had left his keys in the lock. Sighing, he locked up and pocketed his keys, and slowly followed Chris to his Jeep. Sliding into the passenger side, he suddenly remembered that his migraines and moving vehicles did not go well together, having a tendency to develop sudden motion sickness, “Do you have a plastic sack?”

Chris had started the Jeep up and glanced over at the sudden inquiry, hmming in confusion. Wesker went on to explain that he was prone to motion sickness. It felt like his skull was being chipped open with a rusty icepick, and did not want to ruin Chris’s upholstery. Chris got the message as he rustled around in his backseat. “Success! Here Sir, if you really feel bad, I can pull over.” Wesker gratefully clasped onto the sack but did not want to delay getting home any further, “Mmm—no. Just... No… No stopping. And just call me Wesker.”

Chris asked for directions as he put the Jeep into drive. Wesker taking a moment to slit an eye open to see where they were before giving directions. Wesker had rolled the window down all the way, trying to keep the air flowing as heat prickled across his skin.

They were about halfway there when a sudden dip in the road caused Wesker to bounce his head against the headrest, causing his skull to rattle, and he was instantly heaving into the plastic sack. Not having much left from his earlier sick, it was mostly just bile and saliva. Despite his empty stomach, the violent, uncontrollable motion caused his head to pulse as his eyes watered, unable to take a decent breath of air. He could distantly hear Chris saying something, but he waved a hand forward, not wanting him to stop.

Finally, Wesker wiped his mouth on a clean section of the inside of the sack and pressed his head back against the headrest facing Chris. He seethed through his teeth, not caring if the action caused his rank breath to make its way over to the driver's side. “Wesker, what’s your address? I think I missed a few turns.” Groaning, he panted out his address in the hopes Chris knew the city well enough to get him home safely. Wesker tried to contort himself into a comfortable position, but it was a useless effort.

The vertigo was picking up again, and Wesker was forced to crack open his eyes to focus on something. He decided the side of Chris’s head was good enough, and the halo of shimmering light that seemed to surround the brunette was increasing cause for worry. If Wesker didn’t know any better, Chris looked strikingly similar to that of a saint in a renaissance painting.

Between the spinning of his head, blurred vision, and motion sickness, he wasn’t sure how much more of this torture he could take. It had been years since he had a migraine this bad, and he had done the same thing then that he did now, ignoring the signs and waiting to the last second to do something about it.

Wesker couldn’t feel the passage of time anymore, and he jerked violently when he felt a hand on his right arm. Chris was standing next to him with the door open, his face etched in concern. Wesker saw his lips move, but he couldn’t process the sounds. Slipping his eyes shut, he leaned his head back, and shuffled his hand in his pocket for his keys, and shoved them into Chris’s chest, not caring if the brunette caught them in time before he released his grip and let his arm drop into his lap.

“Wesker, you need to get out.” The hesitation almost awkward. Wesker pinched his brow tightly, “One sec. Just need… a moment.” His hand fumbled with the seatbelt, releasing him from its confines. The snap of it retracting was like a loud crash next to his head, and he jerked from it as he shifted to extract himself from the seat onto trembling legs, gripping the doorframe for balance.

Chris offered his arm silently, and Wesker did not hesitate to latch onto it and surprisingly threw one arm around the brunette's shoulders for much-needed support. Making their way inside, Chris directed Wesker to the elevators who pressed his floor. Wesker didn’t realize it, but he had leaned further against Chris’s shoulder as the jolt of the elevator caused his knees to want to give out. Barely coherent, Wesker distantly wondered if he would make it in time.

.....

They stumble their way to Wesker’s apartment, and Chris managed to get Wesker inside. Chris deposited him in one of his living room chairs, who instantly slumped forward to press his face in his hands. Chris leaned down, a hand on Wesker’s shoulder lightly, “Wesker, where is your medicine? What’s it called?” It took several moments, but Wesker stuttered that it was in the bathroom cabinet, that there were two bottles he needed.

Chris didn’t have time to admire the nice setup and dashed into the bathroom, finding the required medicines, and headed into the kitchen to run a glass of water. Wesker was slumped over even lower, and Chris made his way back to him, asking how much of each the blonde required. Wesker shifted his head upward, mumbling the dosages, his speech slow, almost slurred. The sudden subdued actions and speech were incredibly concerning, but Chris handed him the requested amount of pills and the water, which sloshed over Wesker’s trembling hand.

Wesker downed all the pills in one go tilting his head back gingerly, and despite Chris wanting to help, he did not dare attempt to steady the shaking hand holding the glass. Water dripped down Wesker’s chin and neck, soaking into his shirt, and Chris couldn’t help but stare, somewhat fascinated watching the water slide down Wesker’s skin as his throat flexed as he drank. Not sure how long he had been sitting there just staring at Wesker, it took him a second to realize the blonde was saying something, slowly rolling his head side to side against the back of the chair, “I… I need to lay down.”

Chris understood and helped Wesker to his feet, who seemed to weigh a lot more now than he did just moments ago when they first entered the apartment. Practically dragging the older man down the hallway to what he assumed was Wesker’s bedroom, he made to get Wesker on his bed, which of course, was expertly made. As Chris deposited him to sit on the edge, Wesker went completely boneless and slid down the side, landing on the floor with a thump. Wesker would have fallen over, but Chris caught him under his arms and propped him up against the bed.

Chris called out Wesker’s name several times and slapped lightly against both cheeks to no avail. Chris sat back, unsure what to do and wondering if he should call an ambulance, not really knowing what exactly the nature of Wesker’s migraine was. Chris nervously leaned forward, calling Wesker’s name again and inspecting the slack face, obviously feverish, sweating, and shallow breaths. Chris carefully slid the still intact sunglasses off Wesker’s face to place them on the nearby nightstand when a clammy hand gripped his wrist tightly, causing him to squeak at the unexpected action.

Wesker’s eyes rolled, trying to focus on Chris, but he kept blinking rapidly, pale eyes bloodshot, his left even more so, and Chris noticed they were watering heavily. Wesker’s grip jerked Chris’s hand that still held his sunglasses, “What… What happened?” Chris could see the confusion in the unfocused stare, worried how much worse Wesker was going to get.

Chris tried to remove the tight grip but didn’t want to hurt Wesker, “You passed out. You really should see a doctor, Wesker. This is not normal for a migraine. Should I call—” Wesker cut him off, hand shaking Chris’s arm, tightening his grip, “NO! No... I… I waited too long. But… ” Wesker swallow thickly as he leaned his head back against the side of his bed, brows furrowed deeply over clenched eyes that were bubbling up with tears, “It’s normal.. normal for me. I’ll tell you later, just… I need rest… and quiet. Dark…”

Wesker started slumping again, releasing his grip on Chris’s wrist. Chris gazed in concern as Wesker’s eyes rolled up, “Fine, but I’m staying.” The slowing of Wesker’s speech and slight slurring made Chris wonder how in the hell such symptoms were ‘normal’ for anyone as he placed Wesker’s shades down safely. Getting a good hold under Wesker’s arms, Chris managed to get him up enough to get him on the bed, who only grunted at being jostled, “Fuck Wesker! You weigh a ton!” Wesker didn’t respond, having already passed back out.

Chris grumbled as he removed Wesker’s boots and tossed one of the blankets over the prone body. Staring momentarily at his superior, it dawned on him that he really should not be on his back, and he maneuvered Wesker onto his side, facing the edge of the bed in case he ended up vomiting again. He went looking for a small trash can, and finding one in the bathroom, placed it below Wesker’s face.

Sighing, Chris was indeed worried, but Wesker said this was normal. Finally glancing around, Chris noticed Wesker did have a really nice place, well organized, though slightly minimalist except for a few personalized items. Heading back into the kitchen, he stalked the fridge to see if he could snack on anything. Not really finding anything of interest, he grabbed one of the apples sitting on the counter.

Chris flopped on the leather couch and turned the somewhat decent sized TV on and started flipping through channels, only to be startled by a venomous demand, “ **Fucking turn it off**!!!” Chris put it on mute as quickly as he could. A low groaning followed the demand and then quiet muttering, “Why are you here?” Chris flipped bodily over the arm of the couch and stalked back to the bedroom. It was dark inside, but he knew exactly where Wesker was laying, and he eyed the lump of covers, “I’m staying to make sure you don’t choke to death.” Incomprehensible grumbling responded, “I’m fine.”

Chris retorted arms crossed, “With all due respect, I’m staying until you’re done throwing up and passing out all over the place. Sir.” Chris heard shifting inside the room, and irritated mumbles, but nothing more was said, so he quietly made his way back into the living room to watch the silent TV.

.....

Chris had ended up passing out on Wesker’s couch, TV still going. Chris was not sure what had woken him. Maybe it was the dark shadow that blocked out the brightness of the screen or the eerie feeling of flaming portals to hell boring holes into the side of his face. He cracked his eyes open and jolted upright, pressing his back as far into the couch as possible.

Wesker was sitting on his coffee table a few feet from where Chris was lying. Dark shades in place, arms folded, legs crossed, and a stern look on the pale, waxy features. He was still wearing his clothes from the day prior, rumpled, and hair slightly out of place. Several moments passed in silence until finally, Chris managed, “How long have you been sitting there?!” Upon which Wesker could not stop the small smirk, “Long enough to know you talk and drool in your sleep.”

Stuttering in embarrassment, face red, back stiff, like a flustered chicken, “What!!” Wesker chuckled low, enjoying torturing Chris for once, “I’m joking.” There was a pause, and then he pointed at the pillow Chris's head had recently vacated, “But seriously, you do drool. A lot.” If possible, Chris blushed darker as he gaped at the large wet spot on the pillow he had borrowed, rubbing the back of his head, “Umm! I can take it home and wash it!” Chris kept insisting, but Wesker held a hand up to quiet the brunette, pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing in deeply as if still in pain.

Concerned replaced the embarrassment, “Are you feeling better?” Wesker didn’t reply right away as he rubbed across his jaw, head bowed, “Yes. Thank you for driving me home. I…” Almost hesitantly, Wesker continued, “I get very severe migraines once or twice a year, and I require specialized pain and nausea medication. It has to do with light sensitivity.”

Chris’s face scrunched in curiosity, “Light sensitivity?” Wesker’s answering tone was enough for Chris to know the older man had rolled his eyes behind the dark shades, “Why do you think I wear sunglasses all the time?”

Feeling dumb for asking such a question, Chris rubbed at the back of his head again, “I guess that makes sense.” Chris understood the strain, having had a few bad headaches himself recently with the heavy workload, but nowhere as bad as what he witnessed Wesker just go through.

More silence as Chris felt he was well overstaying his welcome, “Do you want me to drive you into work?” There was more hesitation as Wesker rubbed at his brow, “No. I’ll be fine. I can take a cab. Go home, Chris. I’ll give you a couple of hours, but I expect you in by 11.” There was a slight pause as Wesker sighed, “Also, could you keep this on the down-low? I don’t want random get-well cards and balloons arriving at the office.”

Chris grumbled darkly. Wesker always took all the fun out of office pranks. But the blonde ignored the sound as he was no longer staring at Chris but rubbing his face with both hands. Chris rose and folded the borrowed blanket, “Sorry about the pillow, Sir.” Wesker said nothing but waved his hand to indicate no harm done. Chris quickly threw his boots on and turned to leave, the awkward silence slightly unnerving.

Wesker called out to him just as he placed his hand on the door handle and turned to look over his shoulder at him. Wesker’s back was facing him, hunched slightly now as his elbows were planted into his thighs, head in his hands. Wesker turned, suddenly looking more haggard than before, “Thank you, Chris. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up. And… thank you for staying.”

Chris smirked, giving him a thumbs-up, “My pleasure, Sir.” With this, Chris stepped out to head home. He had a few hours to shower and change and maybe get a nap in. It had taken him a while to fall asleep that evening, worried that Wesker would get sick again, but it seemed the medicine had worked.

.....

Wesker stared at the door long after Chris had left. He wasn’t sure what to make of Chris’s departing words but pushed it aside.

Waking up in his apartment had left him slightly startled, not sure how he had made it into his bed. When he made his way to the kitchen, he noticed the sloppily tossed boots on the floor and the silent TV. It was then he noticed the bundled-up brunette, and it took him a moment to remember what happened yesterday. The severe migraine, his attempt to get home, then fuzzy bits of Chris’s concerned face surrounded by an aura, a sickening car ride, and stumbling up to his apartment. Anything past that was a blur of colors and bright lights and stabbing pain.

Wesker muttered wearily, “Fucking Sergei.”

Sighing, he was truly thankful for Chris’s persistence to see him home and then some. If he had not been able to take his dosages in time, he would have been in the hospital. One place he really wanted to avoid at all costs, having spent an overnight visit there a few months back. Standing, he started stripping off his soiled rank clothes. He needed to shower and gargle his mouth out with soap. He could still taste his lunch from the day before.

**Author's Note:**

> I have about one more ‘whump’ piece in me and then I have a ton of smut to write. Smut for days…
> 
> This is a distant follow up to Love Tap. At some point Wesker found out it was Sergei who fucked up his vision.
> 
> Reference of hospital visit can be read in The Courting: Chapter 9 - The Vest


End file.
